


Wet

by sweetiejelly



Series: Torrential [2]
Category: As the World Turns
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 12:38:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetiejelly/pseuds/sweetiejelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A time stamp for Torrential.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet

They were still wet from the torrent of rain, from drinking each other in, from the slick of the earth clinging stubborn like stubbles to their limbs. They were still warm and lightly chilled, stirred in the best of ways. They were sticky where they met lips for lips, hands for hands, dick for dick. They were pressed two into one as the door clicked behind them with all the oomph of cotton landing, of body slamming.

Barn. Its smell rose warm like coffee grounds, earthier. Luke was used to this smell, used to it as much as he was getting used to this headiness of being near Noah, being _with_ Noah. Noah was the one to gasp at the mix of mud and straw, horses, men. Men which at the moment just meant Luke, Luke, _Luke_. Noah parted his lips red and wet and so well used, parted them to let Luke in, tongue like a swirl of fan dancing against tongue. Noah wrangled his partner closer.

They made it to a post for support. That was it. Because then the pricks of stubbles from Noah’s unshaven chin got Luke so hard against his jeans he had to yank them apart for a moment’s reprieve. Noah smirked a little at that and then blushed a lot. Luke just groaned, fingers digging hard into Noah’s shoulders. That pressure sank Noah to his knees – which, fuck, really wasn’t helping with the moment of reprieve bit. Nor were Noah’s fingers, surprisingly steady and undoing Luke inch by inch, helping with much except making Luke’s knees wobble with need. He needed – gosh fuck, he was too far gone to complete that thought. Just needed. So much. Noah, in particular.

Noah seemed in no better shape, tongue unsteady licking up and under, around and back down low. He seemed in no better shape as he held Luke’s thighs apart and perhaps up, his thumbs like kisses brushing over the sensitive stretches of skin. And over and over. His mouth slid down only to pull up, urgent and hollowed, membranes to membranes, heating them both.

When Luke called out, keening, knuckles polished glints of wet off Noah’s shoulders, Noah felt the earth move. Or maybe it was his legs bucking up as he gave, gave in, to a spill of his own. His cheeks were red and sore and full of reflected smiles. Noah thought he could drown here, drown in Luke and be perfectly content.


End file.
